Good Gifts for Your Hairdresser & Manicurist

I picked up a copy of the December Allure last night, and it was a real treat, like all magazines. Magazines are like candy that you read. They’re so glossy and shiny and beautiful, and, just like candy, you enjoy them for a little while and then they’re gone (read: you threw them out because you got sick of the cover model’s face staring up at you from your coffee table).

But one little segment in Allure caught my eye. It was a section–a whole section–on good holiday gifts for your service people. Specifically, your hairdresser and your manicurist  “Why, how marrrrrvelous!” I declared. “I was looking for a good gift for Mr. Fekkai!” Oh, wait, no I didn’t, because I don’t have a hairdresser or a manicurist  The suggestion was probably written by one, actually, since they suggested you buy them a wallet or a cashmere scarf.

Now, I am all for gifting to the people that help make your day a little brighter. And I am sure that hairdressers and manicurists deserve a lot of cashmere scarves considering the insufferable people they have to make small talk to all day. But who the hell does Allure think is reading Allure?! I’m sure some richies do pick it up, but since it also sits next to the Reese’s Cups at the Wegman’s checkout, I’d say a lot more non-riches are regular readers. And who really needs advise on what to get their hairdresser? If you’re swank enough to have your own (which is now a personal dream of mine, after reading that article–it sounds pretty fab) and have the resources to buy them luxe presents, I think you–or your personal shopper–probably already have that on lock.

That being said, I will do anyone’s nails for a cashmere sweater.


Let’s All Just Marry Makeup Brush Sets

I have an obsession, and that obsession is makeup. I watch makeup tutorials on YouTube for fun, I just bought a set of nice brushes and was practically drooling when I took them out of the package, and there is nothing I love more than being asked for how-the-fuck-do-I-make-myself-pretty advice.

I guess there are worse things to be obsessed with. Like someone’s family (I’m looking at you, Robbin Williams as the creeper of One Hour Photo) or heroin. And I am not one of those girls who shaves off their eyebrows and draws them on, or fake-bakes, or wears three inches of panstick. I just like doing makeup, of every style and shade and look you can possibly dream of. If I had a webcam that didn’t have the resolution of a sonogram, I would probably do my own tutorials.

But, alas, I only have my ancient webby, so instead I just do all my friends’ makeup when they go out. And I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty stellar at it. I did my friend’s makeup for her wedding, and trust, nobody’s going to ask you to do their wedding makeup if you turn people into Bozo the Clown every time you pick up a mascara wand.

I’m not really sure what the point of this post is, other than to tell people I love makeup. And to ask any makeup questions you have, Internet World, I suppose? (Nothing makes me want to cry more than when people write in to Yahoo! Answers with cosmetics questions and then get the absolute worst responses. All day, I imagine them taking some fool’s advice and wandering around with chalk-white eyeshadow and blotches of purple rouge on their cheeks.) And as an excuse to say how much I love my new brush set, because I LOVE MY NEW BRUSH SET.

Did I mention I love my new brush set?

Ooh La La, French Beauty Secrets

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, I LOVE YOU! You’re not one of the hundreds of people who found it by Googling “tumblr daddy fuck me” or “lion blowjob girl giving” (two real and horrifying terms people used today, according to WordPress–I don’t know what a lion-blowjob-girl is, nor do I want to). Anyway, what I meant to say is, if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you probably have noticed that I like French things.

Stripy t-shirts, their classic style, their crazy fuck-you-ness, and those bonkers accents–they’re all great things. (Plus, a post about French things is the perfect excuse to throw up some pictures of my girl BB!)

But aside from all that, they also are allegedly some of the most gorgeous people in the free world. In a totally different, eclectic sort of way. Or something. This is all from the Internet machine, people, so if you’ve been to France and they’re all hideous slags don’t get mad at me. But it is a stone-cold, not-just-stuff-I-found-on-Google fact that they are skinnier than everyone else, and that’s usually prettier than being wicked obese, so ha!

Annyyyyhooo, after my extensive researching, I have concluded that other people who write blog posts about French beauty secrets have pretty much come to the same conclusions, so I’m going to steal all their ideas and bundle them up in one giant stellar post of beauté. (Hey, it’s fair–they stole them from the French first.)

  1. Moisturize. Maybe just stick like 5 IVs of fluid in you at all times. Everyone seems to agree that French people are like sponges. They drink a fuckton of water, they toss on moisturizer like nobody’s business, and they like to shower (contrary to my former beliefs that they weren’t too keen on the whole hygiene thing). [Also, I guess they like cold showers and washing your face in cold water, because circulation, and science, and something-or-other?]
  2. Use a lot of creams and magic potions and stuff. This goes back to #1. They’re apparently crazy about their skin, which means they find some super-great face wash and stuff and use that religiously. And then they use lotions and powders for everything fucking else–they even have bosom cream. (Yeah, I didn’t typo that.)
  3. Don’t wear a lot of makeup. And I know you’re thinking, look at BB, but she picked one thing to emphasize–her peepers–and pretty much left the rest be, except for some neutral lipstick. The French aren’t into the whole flawless face thing; they just want it to look sexy and natural without it being obvious you used 18 products to get there. ALLEGEDLY.
  4. Try not to be a big fatso. How, asks the person eating three pints of Ben & Jerry’s as they read this? (Just kidding, that’s me. No, it’s not, it’s you. Shut up, just read!) Apparently part of their staying-thin secret (besides that they walk every-fucking-where and exercise a lot of portion control) is that they are vain as fuck. They want to look like hot French mugs, first, and second, they always dress up everywhere, even to take out their trash. So you don’t really want to blort out when you’re wearing a garter belt and nice clothes, ’cause you feel disgusting. So there. Mrs. Ben & Jerry’s, maybe if you change into a skirt suit, you’ll put the spoon down.
  5. Be a sexy bitch all the time. See #4–they just try and look hot 24-7, unlike us lazy Americans/Brits/Haitians/Russian spies, and trying pays off. Almost anyone can look good if they put effort into their appearance, and the French are way into doing so.

So there you go, now you can look like a gorgeous French lady, with the added bonus of shaved armpits! (I’m just kidding, they apparently do that. Except they wax them instead. So get on their level.)

Craigslist Genius

Craigslist can be a creepy fucking place. I mean, everyone’s soliciting sex and trying to sell their 400-strong collection of homemade glass dildos and not-so-secretively looking for illegal immigrants to work in their pizza shop. It is just a bizarre corner of the Internet.

But sometimes, it’s awesome. I have no idea what part of Craigslist this was posted on, or who said it, and I don’t care, because it’s pure genius. Some rando wrote a post called Just Fucking Fuck Me, Already, and it is glorious.

Basically, it is some lady giving a heads-up to dudes about what women want in bed. And she is spot-on. I could sum it up with “stop trying to be all nice and sensitive and just give a lady a good pounding,” but then you would miss the hilarious nuance (like “It’s OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise.”). So go read it.

Side note: while I totally, 110% agree with all of her advice, she says, “Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well.” In my own experience, that’s not totes magoats true; I know a ton of girls who waaayyy prefer the kind of slow, sensual, romantic shit that is my kryptonite (as in, generally not my thing, not as in, “Ooh it’s so great it just kills me!”). So I can kind of see some poor dude being like, “Okay, lady!” and then getting charged with rape. Awwk-ward. But then he can just write a “Missed Connections” seeking “Girls who won’t press rape charges” and it’ll all be fine. Right? Right.

Cosmo Advice Gone Horribly Wrong

Let me start by saying I am a big fan of Cosmo. I mean, it’s a good magazine. It’s dirty, it has lots of pretty pictures, and they usually have at least one column that makes me laugh (um, I’m looking at you, Lucky, the worst women’s magazine ever created).

But their sex advice can be fucking dangerous.

First of all, why do they talk about using your teeth so much? Like, I don’t care if you say, “Very, very, very gently run the edge of your teeth down his shaft,” because however gently you do it, the guy is going to scream, “HOLY FUCK STOP GRATING MY DICK; IT’S NOT A CARROT, YOU FREAK!” And that’s not going to get you a second date. But somehow, every time I open up a Cosmo, there is at least one tip about “nibbling his balls” or biting something any normal guy wouldn’t want bitten. You know what’s going to happen, Cosmo? Some little fifteen-year-old who’s never given head is going to read that, ruin her boyfriend’s junk, and be scarred for life (just like the guy’s dick).

And then some of it is just downright weird. Jamie’s stellar sex advice is “Make two fists around my shaft and twist them in opposite directions as fast as you can.” Really, Jamie? You like getting Indian burns on your dick? I mean, maybe, but I’m 99.9% sure half the “Sex Tips From Guys!” were written by a bunch of drunk frat guys giggling, “Do you really think they’re going to print this stuff? I mean, holy fuck, who wants a girl to punch them in the sack?” And then sluts everywhere are ball-tapping their boyfriends.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for trying new things. But when the “new things” include scattering marbles on the bed before you get it on (seriously), I’m just not game (you know what I don’t want to go to the doctor for? Having a marble stuck in my vajangles).

So, before girls everywhere are chomping down on penises and forcing their boyfriends to drown themselves during sex, Cosmo should do themselves a favor and have a real, normal dude veto their more psycho sex tips. Or, you know, hire someone who’s not retarded to proofread them first (NO GUY WANTS TEETH ON HIS DICK, PEOPLE).

(Don’t) Fake It ‘Till You Make It

The other day, my friend told me that she had “the really rare kind of orgasm. You know, from the inside!” It’s kind of hard to make me speechless, but I had absolutely no words. “Because most of them are always from the clit?” my friend said into the silence. “You know?”

Me being the weird little curious sexual deviant that I am, I asked around, and apparently, that’s the norm–the girls I talked to find it hard to come if it’s just straight-up no-clit-stimulation sex. Now, I am a big fan of all things to do with le c (I am really sick of typing “clit”; it sounds gross and makes me think of some kind of spiky sea creature), but personally, I don’t find it difficult to come the old-fashioned way. At all.

Which begs the question, are all these ladies just faking it every time they have vanilla sex and don’t come? Because NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I might have, maybe, faked it one time. Okay, I totally did. I admit it. I faked it because it was lasting forever and I wanted to be able to walk sometime within the next week, so I just moaned and gasped and put on a show until he stopped. And I was like, hooray! That’s that!

As usual, boy, was I wrong. The Guy in question decided to do the same boring, totally-not-doing-it-for-me maneuver that he’d been doing at the time of my Spectacular Fake Orgasm like every time after. Yeah, never making that mistake again. The moral of this story: get a Guy who’s good in bed. (Oh, yeah, and don’t fake it.)

Seriously, though, my life motto is that life is too short not to orgasm every day. I mean, why fake it when you can have the real thing? I taught myself a valuable life lesson while I was fake-coming everywhere.

An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away! (Unless you’re having sex with your doctor.)